


Soaked

by nhasablog



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25000537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhasablog/pseuds/nhasablog
Summary: Bucky laughed too, hands moving down to unbutton his shirt. “What does it say about you that your mind went that way? I meant I might need to ground you. You know, take you down a few notches.”“Oh? And how will you do that?”“I have my ways. Many of them, in fact.”Tony knew several of his ways, but his bones didn’t feel as exhausted anymore and he felt an old itch of curiosity in his limbs. “Demonstrate.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	Soaked

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a sexual undertone, but nothing graphic.

The summer rain was gentle, in a way, but his body had gotten used to sun and a merciful breeze, so the sudden drops were nearly painful against his skin. Tony ran, if only because he was supposed to. Because Howard had once told him to stop letting his mind wander and get a move on, can’t you see you’re getting soaked, for god’s sake? New York was no Malibu beach. No parasols being pulled down hastily; belongings thrown into beach bags and towels being raised as shields. The New Yorkers were used to unpredictable weather. Knowing exactly how to take a step to the right to hide beneath slanting roofs and balconies, if they just so happened to pass any. They knew to bring umbrellas, or at least wear a jacket with a hood. But Tony had been wearing the lightest suit he could find for his meetings that June day, and as much as his sunglasses protected him from the sun, his apparel could do little to protect him from anything else. **  
**

He wasn’t running a marathon, but he was careless enough that he stepped into more than one puddle; his socks wet inside his shoes when he finally reached the Tower. Only a couple of blocks away, having insisted on walking for once, and instantly eating his own words. The rain only increased in intensity the longer he watched it now, slightly annoyed, but not having the energy to properly care. He was home, pretty much. He just had to go upstairs and change.

Leaning against the building - his building - he watched children rush by on bikes and legs; sunburned and loud and laughing. Whatever troubles awaiting them forgotten in the moment. How would the world react if he mimicked them? If he rushed out onto the street and let the rain have its go on him, smiling into it as if it didn’t matter?

He shook his head, his mind too full of useless things, yet echoey enough for whatever to take hold.

He went inside as the thunder started roaring, dripping enough for him to pretend he’d actually done a mindless, childish, carefree thing, when all he’d done was jog down the block, hands fumbling for something to do. He’d seen far more ridiculous shots of him in magazines, but the idea of that image just made him feel old.

“Are you okay?” Bucky’s hair had a slight curl to it, whispering of moments caught in the rain. But his clothes were dry, the rain was only a few minutes old, and Bucky seemed flushed enough for all the signs to point to an actual shower.

“As good as I can be looking like a wet cat.” Tony pushed past him, entering their shared quarters.

“You’re a cute cat, if that helps.”

Tony turned an involuntary smile at him, matching his grin. A silly compliment that he wished didn’t affect him, but he was tired and Bucky was warm and pretty and smelled of home and citrus, and even after all these years he still made Tony feel like a smitten teenager.

“Fuckin’ rain caught me minutes from home,” he muttered as he started untying his tie, his lips still curled and not suited for his words. “I know I’ve been complaining of the heat the past week, but that I could have done without.” He wasn’t sure if that were true, but felt like he might reveal too much if he decided to not play the role of the grumpy oldish man he was becoming.

Bucky approached him and moved his hands away to help with the tie. “How was the meeting?”

“Which one?”

“The one that had you fretting.”

“I wasn’t _fretting_.”

Bucky poked him in the stomach before pulling the tie over his head. “Don’t lie. You were a nervous wreck.”

“New contracts and all that. But it went well. Glad it’s over. I’m becoming too old for meetings.”

“Oh, hush. You’re as young as ever.”

“Maybe next to _you_ -” Tony leaned into Bucky’s touch as he ran his hand through Tony’s wet hair, not so much ruffling it as he was simply feeling it.

“I always did tell you to pick someone your own age,” Bucky said, nodding. “But you still wanted the hundred year old.”

“I would say I like them mature, but we both know you’re not.”

“Careful now.”

Tony imagined his grin was challenging, but he knew he couldn’t really control his face in front of this man. “Or what?”

“I might have to ground you.”

The laugh bubbled up Tony’s throat; easy and surprised. “Don’t be gross. I’m getting a gross vibe from this.”

Bucky laughed too, hands moving down to unbutton his shirt. “What does it say about you that your mind went that way? I meant I might need to ground you. You know, take you down a few notches.”

“Oh? And how will you do that?”

“I have my ways. Many of them, in fact.”

Tony knew several of his ways, but his bones didn’t feel as exhausted anymore and he felt an old itch of curiosity in his limbs. “Demonstrate.”

“Do you really want me to?”

“I dare you to.”

Bucky’s fingers stilled halfway down his waist, the wet shirt still clinging to Tony’s skin. “I can’t say no to a dare.”

“Oh, I know.”

Tony could imagine many things that Bucky would do to him, and he’d be disappointed by exactly zero of them. But his body suddenly felt restless. Aching for something he hadn’t pictured being done to him in probably months. When you were with someone for years, it was easy to get caught up in the discoveries, eventually relishing in how much you knew and trying to do all of it. But in the end you go for what works, occasionally falling back onto something you knew they liked, but hadn’t done in ages because it wasn’t as convenient. And sometimes, in the more passionate moments hidden in the dark, beneath domesticated sheets, you would discover something new.

If Bucky knew what he was thinking, he didn’t let it on. Only did exactly what Tony wanted, despite having at least five more ways to pretend to put Tony in his place while actually yielding to his desires. Maybe it was the inches of bare skin; slippery under his touch. Maybe it was the laugh caught in Tony’s throat, spilling out slowly no matter what they talked about. Maybe it was a complete coincidence and Tony wasn’t as transparent as Bucky sometimes made him think. Whatever it was, Tony’s air left his lungs the moment Bucky pressed him against the wall, partly in surprise, partly in relief, and as Bucky’s fingertips went for the bare skin first, his laugh was released all at once. Multiplying, second by second.

He squirmed out of habit, and because it tickled like hell due to the rain, and yes okay also because Bucky had had years of figuring out how to get him good. Whoever said you grew out of being ticklish was a goddamn liar and clearly didn’t know Bucky Barnes.

One part of him was embarrassed. Nearly in his mid-fifties and still giggling like a fool from a few touches. The slight wheeze to his laughter, the way he couldn’t really talk through it anymore. Once upon a time, even before Bucky, he’d babbled on like crazy as if to distract from the fact that he was probably letting someone tickle him. Now whatever word he tried to say came out as a weirdly oval laugh.

Another part of him was thrilled. Bucky hadn’t stopped tickling him on purpose. Age, familiarity, maybe insecurity on his own part had left Tony tickle-less for a while now, but he hadn’t said anything about it either, so he couldn’t exactly blame Bucky. Time was scarce enough that focusing on one thing would be nearly impossible, but.

Well, maybe this would remind them of giggly nights again. Maybe Tony would allow Bucky to pull him apart, forgetting his embarrassment, until he was so thoroughly tickled out that he would succumb to a mere breeze. Bucky had him trapped against the wall, one hand spidering over his belly beneath his shirt, the other on his hip bone. Partly tickling, partly steadying. And maybe he was saying something about regretting his words, but Tony couldn’t hear him. Could barely see him from laughing.

He was suddenly grateful for the rain. Without it the afternoon would be too hot for this. Bucky would have suggested a shared cold shower, and everyone knew you didn’t tickle in the shower.

Tony gripped Bucky’s wrist and Bucky gripped both of his in turn, pulling them to the side with a grin so wicked Tony was almost scared.

“Let’s take this to the bed, shall we?”

“My clothes are wet,” Tony said weakly, partly scared Bucky would turn this into something else. Not yet. He hadn’t had enough yet.

But Bucky merely trapped him beneath his body, straddling his hips and pinning his wrists, and let his free hand roam. Swirling under armpits and necks, poking at ribs and bellies. Squeezing at sides, chuckling when Tony squealed, and then fluttering so mercilessly over thighs and knees. Unbearable, and everything Tony wanted. Giving him what he wanted almost ten years into it.

“This must be cold,” Bucky noted moments later, scratching at his wet socks. “Let’s pull them off for you.”

Slowly, making sure it tickled a little as he did it, Bucky shed Tony’s clothes, and once his skin was entirely bare, vulnerable, all up for grabs, Bucky kissed all over it in a way that tickled. Not too much, giving him a sense of security, until suddenly he pinned him again, going for every weak spot he could find. He had many to choose from, a fact which always delighted him.

And Tony? Well, all he could do was laugh, wheeze and all, thanking the sudden summer rain that had soaked his clothes enough for them to have to be pulled off. Don’t want to get him sick, after all. For his own good, after all.

Later, the laughter having been pulled entirely out of his throat, with the occasional giggle still at the tip of his tongue, Tony let Bucky pull the covers over him like a child. Knowing no more discovering or rediscovering would happen beneath those sheets that night and being entirely okay with it.

When he thought about it he knew Bucky would agree to run into the rain with him, if he asked. When he thought about it he knew he would want to do it with no one else anyway. Next storm, maybe.


End file.
